


With And Without

by faerypretty



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Caulscott - Freeform, Comedy, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Romance, Sad Ending? What's that?, Time Travel, and nathan needs a hug, canonical characters, dark themes, except chloe rip, friendship fluff, honestly just writing this bc i need a happy ending, hurt!Nathan - Freeform, i ship pricefield so hard what am i doing, jesus take the wheel, my life sucks i need happiness and fluff, or five, protect nathan prescott, redeemed!Nathan, the gang's all here :'), this community has some of the best writers ive ever seen but christ the feels, this ship is slowly taking over my life, ya'll are too good at writing sad endings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 11:18:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11312286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerypretty/pseuds/faerypretty
Summary: So much for Max making things right.





	With And Without

Everything is still, for the first time in a while. So much so, that Max almost believes she’s in a photograph. The thought fills her with dread.

It’s Thursday the 8th again, only this time, Chloe Price is actually dead. Max doesn’t comprehend it. Instead, she tries to distract herself by thinking about the small details that have remained comfortable constants throughout her fucked up experience with fate. Her eyes go in and out of focus staring at the spots of gummy residue on the wall left behind by the photos that had once made up The Memorial Wall. Her ears amplify the excited chatter of the squirrels outside her window.  She vividly pictures the thick smudge across the rubber of her sneakers.

Yet her thoughts still wander the familiar path back to Chloe. And suddenly, she can’t breathe. The realization crashes upon her all over again with an intense wave of anxiety and she immediately feels like she’s falling.

 _How?_ How did the universe decide that _this_ was the right ending for Chloe? _For Max_? How could she ever be expected to just continue her original timeline after she has seen _everything_? She lived out all possible decisions, each action, and every consequence ten times over. She has witnessed more death in four days (technically, 10 years, four weeks, and six days?) than in her previous 18 years of life. She experienced warm, tender moments with the only person who always understood her, who always _valued_ her, even after five silent years. The one person she will never know again. Chloe. _Oh, Chloe._

 Hot tears stream down into her hair and onto the bedsheets. Her shoulders quake as she hiccups, choking on her grief. Streaks of gold leak through the window planes and into her blurry eyes. Max is once again of reminded of the many days she has lived and she curses the sun for invading her sanctuary with its harsh sting of reality.

“Max?”

The voice from the other side of the door is laced with blatant concern that is accentuated by a hesitant knock on the door. Max curls herself deeper into the blanket cocoon.

“Max? It’s… It’s Warren. Are you okay?”

She bites her lip and tiredly looks around the motionless room. She’s been lying here since she returned from the police station yesterday evening. But she didn’t sleep last night. On the contrary, her pulse pounded frantically in her ears and the buzzing adrenaline that she had become so intimate with coursed through her veins. Still, her body refused to move. Now it’s 4:34 PM and nothing has changed.

The air is as stagnant as Max feels.

“Max, I know… I can’t imagine-“, her ears pick up a faint sigh, “I’m really sorry about… what happened. Just talk to me when you’re ready? And please take care of yourself. I bet you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.”

A few seconds of silence pass and Max’s eyes dart to the door. She waits.

“O-Okay. If you ever need to talk or hang, you know I’ll always be here. You know where I am…” The shadow under the door turns to leave, but then shifts back in front of the door. “Max, I’m so sorry.”

When Warren walks off, Max returns back to the alcoves of her mind. Despite every alternative reality she had witnessed, yesterday had truly been the vilest day of her entire existence. Even the timeline in which she saved William wasn’t as fucked up. At least in that world, Chloe had made it to Paris and Joyce wasn’t all alone.

…And Max didn’t cover up Chloe’s murder.

In all honesty, Max didn’t completely know why she had lied. It was a very impulsive decision. Yet, whenever she thinks deeply about it, past the searing guilt she feels towards Joyce and Chloe, she _kind of_ understands. … _I’m going to hell._ Protecting her best friend’s murderer, how surreal _._ She almost convinces herself into believing it was all a dream. Almost. _Who does that? Why did I do that?_ Max forces her eyes shut, trying to fill her mind with blank darkness, but it’s no use. The events that took place in that bathroom haunt her, dooming her to relive the tragedy in silent anxiety.

* * *

Max was crouching in the corner of the bathroom, sobbing quietly as she waited for the death of her best friend.

 _This is so cruel and fucked up._ She lowers her head into her arms. _The universe gave me control over time and space so that I could save Chloe, only to rip her away from me again. And for what? To punish me for trying to play God? To make sure I know just how powerless I am? I really couldn’t change anything. And now I have to sit here, listening to Chloe’s death for the sixth time. Brutal irony._

Max shakes her head and instead contemplates the insight she has to distract herself from the impending heartbreak. _This is it, Max. This is your world now and you need to make all the right choices because there will be no second chances._ She flinches at how uneasy she feels now that her safety net is gone. _I definitely need to talk to Kate more, she needs to know I’m there for her. I won’t ever let her feel alone again. And I should give Warren more of my time. He’s been such a great friend throughout all of this and he even believed me when I told him about the time traveling. He deserves way better._ Her hands curl up into fists as a rush of determination hits her. _But my biggest priority is Jefferson. It’s time that bastard meets his true fate._

 __Max lays her head back on the stall and listens for footsteps. Nathan should be coming any minute now. Then she remembers.

_Nathan._

Her chest tightens uncomfortably as she wonders what she should do about him. _Nathan… did horrific things, Max. Nathan hurt everyone, including sweet Kate Marsh. He made her want to die. Yes he’s mentally ill, but he’s also about to murder your best friend. He should go to prison alongside Jefferson. He_ is _involved after all. …Stop feeling guilty._ Max swallows harshly, her throat dense and painful. _That’s not the real Nathan though…_

Nathan is mentally sick and extremely unstable, but from what Max learned from Old Timeline Victoria and the pictures around his room, he wasn’t always so unhinged. Ask anyone in Blackwell and they’ll tell you that even though Nathan’s always been a total ass, the actual disturbing behavior didn’t start until almost a year ago. Max knows he’s involved in the Dark Room, but she’s also pretty sure that his participation is minimal. _So what? He still drugs girls. He even drugged Chloe in his room. Stop justifying his actions. He’s a deranged psycho._

Still, Max can’t help but come up with proof that contradicts what her sanity is telling her. That night he drugged Chloe, she said he was… scared. _I mean, obviously, he should have been. But in that photo of Chloe, she wasn’t… restrained in any way. She wasn’t tied up or locked away. He wasn’t even planning to take her to the Dark Room. A sloppy drugging in Nathan’s room definitely wasn’t Jefferson’s M.O. Not mention that the photo of Chloe was nothing like his work in the bunker. It wasn’t a clean shot, her body wasn’t posed, and it wasn’t even taken in black and white. The whole scenario seemed unplanned, frenzied. Out of control. It was almost like... Nathan was suffering some sort of delirium._ Max blinks and shakes her head, cursing herself under her breath. _Okay, Caulfield. You’ve officially lost it. You’d really go that far to defend a murderer? To defend the guy who drugs your friends? The guy who killed Rachel Amber._

Faint recollections of last year’s psychology class drift into her ears. _“Victims of PTSD will oftentimes attempt to recreate the original incident in order to take control of the situation in which they felt powerless in. It’s a destructive coping mechanism.”_ Max remembers a conversation she had at Two Whales during another timeline.  

_"Nathan, did you rape her?"_

_"You are fucking evil, Max. No way are you asking me this. I didn't touch her, and I wouldn't. You just crossed my red line, you little..."_

He had spit her name out as though it was poison, his voice laced with ire at the fact that Max would ever accuse him of something so vile. He was hurt. Max was sure that Nathan wouldn’t rape anyone and he didn’t rape Chloe. Plus, he _definitely_ has a BDSM-bondage fetish. If he was going to mar Chloe like that for his own pleasure, she would’ve been tied up. _Nathan…_

An abrupt _click_ derails her train of thought and Max flinches at the sound of Nathan’s presence. Her body freezes and her pulse accelerates; the violent thumping gives her angina. Her mouth goes painfully dry. Nathan inspects the bathroom for any sign of life. The silence rings in both their ears.

“It’s cool, Nathan… Don’t stress… You’re okay, bro. Just count to three…”

Burning tears streak her face while a heavy lump swells in her throat, and Max wonders if Chloe will remember everything once she’s gone. Her nails dig into the skin on her arms. _“I love you, Chloe. I love you so very much… You’re… my soulmate. ”_

“Don’t be scared… You own this school… If I wanted, I could blow it up. You’re the boss.”

Her stomach constricts as she notices small details she didn’t catch the first time around. The waver of his words. The insecurity leaking through his facade. The shiver of his right hand.

 _Nathan has such an obsession with having control. He must feel so weak._ She unwillingly recalls the last time she heard his voice, a desperate whimper through the speakers of her phone. Jefferson completely destroyed him, manipulating the broken boy in ways she couldn’t even fathom. A dim image of Nathan and Rachel surfaces behind her eyes and her breathing stops. _The angle of the shot, his closed eyes, the splayed, unnatural position of their bodies. Nathan… In that photo… had he been… drugged?_ The realization hurts her head.  

Nathan Prescott was another victim.

“I hope you checked the perimeter, as my step-ass would say.”

 _Chloe. Her voice is like a rising storm. Filled with an attractive energy and the impression of power. A song of adventure._ The taste of bile floods her mouth and her lips quiver. Max envisions herself running into Chloe’s arms and laying hot kisses all over her porcelain face. She wishes she was the one fated to die. She curls tightly into the fetal positions, swallowing her whines and stifling the sobbing. Her ears pulsate and for a moment, Max worries if she’s gone deaf. There is nothing but ringing in her ears.

Then, a shot.

Max wasn’t quite coherent after that.

“Oh, shit! No, no, no, no!”

Her right hand twitches with the urge to go back. Go anywhere but here. But she’s made a promise to Chloe, and she will never fuck with time again. She never wants to suffer like that ever again.

 "No... Please, god, no! I-I didn't mean to. You just kept pushing me. Everybody is always pushing me.” Nathan lets out a familiar whimper. “Sorry... I'm so, so sorry...”

Max finally reacts. With a guttural cry, she stumbles out from behind the stall.

“CHLOE!”

Nathan snaps up from his crumpled position on the floor, “ _Who the fuck are you?!”_

Max doesn’t hear him, her eyes fixated on her best friend in front of her. The concentrated salt from tears and mucus sting her taste buds and she suddenly feels really, _really_ alone. Her eyes warily look over at Nathan. David will be here any second.

“You have to get out of here!”

“ _What the fuck?!_ What are yo-“

She has to act now. Her body rushes into action before her brain commands it to. She shoves the janitorial cart with all her strength, knocking it over. It falls with a loud crash. _You’re running out of time, Caulfield_! She picks up the hammer and looks over at Nathan, briefly scanning his stunned expression. Resentment swells up inside her chest and her hand clenches around the metal. _I could do it myself._ She sighs. _But it won’t solve anything._

“You have to go now!”

“Who _the fuck_ are you?!”

Without faltering, she smashes the hammer against the glass of the fire alarm and plunges for the alarm. The remaining fragments framing the button slice small cuts into her hand. She doesn’t feel it. Her fingers press down and the sirens wail throughout the school instantaneously. _That should buy him some time._

Max turns back to Nathan and he somehow looks even more incredulous than before.

“LEAVE!”

That pulled him from his shock. 

Wide-eyed and trembling, Nathan scrambles off the floor and bolts out of the claustrophobic bathroom. Not before grabbing his gun, of course. Once he leaves, Max, now hyperaware of herself, leans back against one of the stalls and sinks down to the floor. Her eyes blurry the image in front her, but it still engraves itself behind her eyes. Red seeps throughout the scene and after a while, Max doesn’t see blue anymore. _Chloe is gone._ She looks down at her hands.

_What have I done?_

* * *

Sometime during her flashback, Max had sat up in bed and started dry-heaving. Her body, fervent to expel itself of all its impurities, sends waves of nausea throughout her. She lets out soft whines as her hands clutch her stomach. _Max… Breathe!_  
Her mouth opens and her lungs desperately inhale a gust of dry, icy air. The cold chafes her throat. How long had she been holding her breath? She hyperventilates for the next ten minutes until, finally, her lungs fall into a comfortable pattern. The room is as static as before. It helps her focus. Her heartbeat eventually calms, but the desolation lingers.

 _David was so sad when he came in and… saw Chloe. The sight of her broke him entirely._ Even with the disorientation of the fire alarm, he managed to reach the bathroom minutes after Nathan left. As soon as he recognized what he was looking at, he doubled over in agony. He shouted her name, an echo of raw pain, and hovered over her. The alarms were promptly turned off, allowing the other security guards to find the source of the chaos. It was only when the police arrived that Max began understanding the severity of the situation. Had time travel really desensitized her that much? She was treated as prime suspect number one, for obvious reasons. But she didn’t mind. She numbly allowed the officers to handcuff her and lead her down the halls towards the parking lot. As they walked through the school, Max could hear the confused whispers and murmurs coming from the societal court of her peers as they gossiped and speculated about what had happened. She couldn’t care less. Her life was already taken from her.

When they arrived at the station, all but two officers dispersed to prep their files and begin documentation. Max felt Officer Berry’s perplexed stare as she was escorted into the interrogation room. Shame creeps up her spine even though he doesn’t know her yet. She was asked if she had a lawyer and she assured them she didn’t need one. The police sat down across the metal table with tight frowns on their faces and began questioning her. _Okay, Max. This is where you can take it all back. You can tell them everything._ She took a breath.

And lied her ass off.  

Well, for the most part; Max was completely honest about the beginning at least. She had gone to the bathroom after class to wash her face. A butterfly flew in and she went into the corner to take a picture, which was supported by the photograph they had already collected. At this point, her words began to lose their meaning, even though she tried her hardest to be convincing. _“When I took the photo, the door opened and I… I heard someone talking to himself. He was, um, very calm and composed. He spoke about money. He said he wouldn’t let anybody get away with not paying him and t-that if there was no money, then..._ A pause. _He seemed to be prepping himself for something big. Since he was in the girl’s bathroom and clearly crazy, I stayed quiet. I was scared he would hurt me… so I hid farther into the corner. I didn’t see his face…”_

The officers didn’t try to mask their skepticism. “ _Miss, do you understand that withholding information from the police is illegal?”_

_“Y-Yes, officer. I understand.”_

_“Are you positive that you’ve recounted the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”_

Her face heated up, _“Yes, officer.”_

Max signed her statement with a deep sense of dread and was subsequently directed to Forensics. The lab technicians tested her hands and clothing for the presence of gunshot residue. A few hours later, the results come back negative, but they take more samples for a thorough examination. She is completely acquiescent. Max was taken back to questioning where she restates her testimony, this time with a little more certainty in her tone. They hold her in the station for a couple more hours until she was released as a witness due to a severe lack of evidence and the absence of a gun after a search of the area. Having binged crime documentaries with Chloe during one of their many sleepovers, Max knew that they could have legally detained her for 24 hours. Maybe someone put in a good word for her, she thought. The idea was short-lived.

 _I wonder when they’ll call me in for more questioning._ Max walks over to her desk, cringing at her passing reflection in the mirror. _I look just how I feel. I should shower... but I really like this whole avoiding society thing. I don’t even want to know what the newspapers are saying about me._ She spots her cellphone and picks it up off the desk, already expecting a hundred worried calls from her mother. Her thumb presses down on her home button and she’s instead met with a screen cluttered with a long list of text notifications. _What the-? Kate, Dana, Justin… even Zachary?_ Each message had a degree of concern. Some wrote that they were proud of her. And a few specifically mention Chloe, apologizing for the loss of her childhood best friend. _News always travels fast in Arcadia._

Max absentmindedly skims through the list, looking for her mother’s contact. Her eyes flick tiredly across the screen until an unknown number catches her attention. Her body reacts instinctively; her nerves spike up and goosebumps permeate her skin. And then it clicks. She’s knows this number.

 

“We need to talk, Max Caulfield. –N”

**Author's Note:**

> aaa this chapter is short, but it's basically just serving as the set up for the story. expect longer chapters for the rest of the fic c: thanks for reading!


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